The Meeting
by iSasha
Summary: What happens the first time Herbert meets crazy Miss Havisham and Estella?
1. Chapter 1

I paled as soon as I had reached the door of the house. Father had always told me of his strange cousin and her strange habits, and how they refused to communicate; yet I knew nothing of the story. "Now, my boy, that tale's quite for another time," he always said. I supposed he was referring to the fact that I was too young to understand the nature of it.

My father had spoken to me upon entering the gate of Satis House, and said to refer to his cousin as Miss Havisham, never Great Aunt Havisham, or any sort of name with familiarity. I was not to speak of Father at all. And I was to be very kind to Miss Havisham, and do what she asked of me. Of course, by then, I was terrified. Of all the things I had heard of her and my father's non-existent relationship, her eccentric behavior, and her obsession with darkness frightened me to the core. I did quite dread passing through those doors into her rooms.

I left Father at the gate and traveled inside the house with a servant. I knew not of her name, yet she had a peculiar nature about her in which she would stare wide-eyed at anything that moved. She guided me through what must have been once a grand foyer, yet was now absolutely covered in dust, spider-webs, and yellowed wallpaper that peeled. She led me through several musty passages and staircases. I could hardly see where I was headed, as the air was thick and smelled old, and there had only been a few poorly placed candles along the walls. Eventually we arrived at a hallway. There was a grand door at the end of it, and the carpet leading up to it was worn through, especially in the middle. It was here that the servant left me and told me to knock on the door first in a gruff bark of a voice. She turned around, ready to leave, and then turned to face me again. She stared at me for a frighteningly long while, and then I could've sworn she'd said, "Good luck," before turning away. I slowly padded down the weak carpeting until I reached the door. I raised my hand to knock so carefully it was as if I was trying to pat a mad dog on the nose, ready to jump back and run at the first alarm. I knocked softly twice, and quickly pulled my hand away. No answer came from within, so I knocked several times more. On the last time, the door jerked open. A voice as crinkled and scratched as old paper stated, "It took you long enough to arrive. Enter."

I stepped through the doorway and immediately held my nose. The stench was horrible. It was musty, dirty, and quite disgusting. I was under the impression that whoever was inside hadn't bathed in quite a long time. The room was very dark. No natural sunlight came in through the windows, which had been boarded up, the curtains pulled down. They laid in heaps beneath the windowsills, as if they had been yanked down in a mad fury. The only light came from several candelabras, which balanced precariously on crooked side tables.

"You are Herbert Pocket, are you not?" The voice said again. I turned to see the face. I nearly yelped. Sitting in a stool by an old-fashioned oak vanity was the oldest woman I had ever seen. Her skin was the color of yellowed parchment, and just as thin and weathered. Her wrinkles were so etched into her skin, they looked as if they had been set there at the beginning of time. Her hands were small and withered, and the blue veins stuck out profoundly. Her hair was pure white, of which the likes I had never seen. It was whiter than whitest of snow. Her eyes were penetrating, yellow, and bloodshot. I could've sworn they reached down to the depths of the Earth. She wore what seemed to be a wedding dress that must've been the height of fashion 40 years ago. It had holes and was ripped in many places. The bottom was shredded, almost as if it had been shortened to accommodate the shrunken-ness of her ancient body. It was a tan material, but I suspected it had once been as white as her hair was now. I could tell it hadn't been washed in many years. I could see why my father had avoided her.

"Yes, ma'am. Are you Miss Havisham?"

"Well, boy, who else could I be? And who else could you be besides the son of my hateful cousin, Matthew Pocket!" At this point she screeched. I suspected her of being mad. I was scared to death she would launch herself at me and attack.

"I apologize being related to my father, if it causes you such discomfort," I said meekly. To my surprise, she cackled.

"Your apology is quite accepted, boy! Estella! Where are you? Come to me at once!" She yelled to this Estella so suddenly that I started and nearly tripped over my own feet.

"Sit," she demanded. I had no idea what she was talking of, for I saw no chairs to do so, so I sat at her feet on the hard wooden floor.

I was afraid to look up in fear of catching her frightening eyes with my own, yet raised my eyes anyway. Thankfully she looked toward the doorway, so I had the chance to inspect the vanity. It many numerous things lay on top of it, and for some reason, my eyes drew to a tarnished silver clock. It read 8:40. I knew this was the wrong time, for it had been at least nine o'clock when left my house with father, and the journey to Satis House had taken several hours. I watched the clock, for Miss Havisham directed no words at me. Instead, she seemed to be quite content in speaking to herself. The clocks' hands did not budge, no matter how hard I stared at them and willed them to. I became terrified I was stuck perpetually in some sort of time warp. I jumped up and tried to communicate once again with Miss Havisham.

"Excuse me," I began, unsure of what to say, "but your clock seems to have stopped working." I breathed a sigh of relief, having gotten out this sentence without fainting.

She slowly turned her head toward me, seemingly giving me the most hateful look she could muster. The, she slowly grimaced, which was a terrifying effect, and I realized she must have been smiling in some strange sort of way.

"Herbert, I have no need for time. It has never done me any good, as you can see. Look at this dress, and look at what damage time has committed it!" She was standing at this point, and I was just about ready to spring back to life and sprint home into the arms of Father. Thankfully, at the very moment she looked as if she was about to whip me, or beat me, or some other sort of torture, the door opened and in sprung a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

She was around my tender age of 7, and was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Her dark curls were long and luscious, and bounced with every step. Her pinafore was crisply white, as if it was just laundered. It sat on top of a pink dress, and the color brought out the rosy-ness of her cheeks. She smiled as if she had no cares in the world. That is, she smiled until her eyes met mine.

"Auntie? Auntie Havisham, who is this strange boy?" she said sweetly to Miss Havisham. She then turned and scowled at me. I was dumbstruck.

"Why, he is your new play friend, Estella my dear!" Miss Havisham said. She looked at Estella as if she was about to devour a piece of candy.

"Why would I play with him? He is of a… detestable nature." She was likely to give me a toothache with the sweetness of her voice, yet the words that came out of it were a different matter entirely.

"Excuse me, but why would you call me detestable?" I started quietly. I did not appreciate the fact that she hardly knew me, yet called me detestable. I could not understand how something so beautiful was so harsh and cruel at the same time.

"Don't talk to me, boy. I don't like you," she stated haughtily.

This comment had struck me down. Who was she to be so rude? Father had always taught me to be kind and gracious to guests, and here she was verbally abusing hers.

"I don't think you should be saying such things when you hardly know me."

"I don't want to know you! You are ugly and short! Your hat is crude! Auntie Havisham, tell him to leave!"

Miss Havisham looked delighted with Estella. I couldn't understand the perversion of the situation. I must've had a look of utter stupidity upon my face, for Estella continued with her rampage: "You are idiotic, too! You are the dumbest person I've ever met! I hate you. Hate you!" She was on the floor at this point, banging her fists and screaming. Her feet kicked. I stood where I was, stuck on the spot. These people were crazy. They belonged in Bedlam.

Miss Havisham sat upon her chair again. "Estella," she said softly. "Estella, my darling, please remove yourself from the floor. Play with the boy."

"Miss Havisham…" I was about to ask if I could avoid this strange girl all together, yet I could not. Her beauty was so profound, that I could not.

"Play with him. Play with him." She chanted this over and over, as if hypnotizing Estella. Slowly, Estella strayed from her tantrum and picked herself up off the ground. She slowly strolled over to where Miss Havisham and I were. I thought she was going to Miss Havisham, yet she stopped in front of me.

"I will never ever play with you, you wretched boy. I hate you!" With this comment, she slapped me across the face. I was so shocked I fell backwards. The slap made my eyes sting and my nose sniff repeatedly. The cheek where she had slapped me was so sore, I could've sworn she made it explode. She once again resumed her tantrum, rolling around on the ground and calling me every horrid thing she must've known.  
Miss Havisham grabbed her hand when she rolled close enough and pulled her up. She whispered something into Estella's ear, and Estella once again yelled, "I will never play with him. I hate him! I hate him!"  
Miss Havisham whispered something once again into her ear. This time I listened closely, and it wasn't until days later that I realized what sentence the words formed: "You can break his heart."


End file.
